The Real Trickster
by carylshipper101
Summary: It's a normal day, until Dean returns to find that something is terribly off with Sam- a condition that they've never dealt with before. A very 'feminine' condition. Will Dean be able to reverse the effects on his brother before it's too late? (Set after 'About a Boy', general season 10 spoilers, no slash. )


a/n: Set after 'About a Boy', spoilers for season 10 in general. I hope you enjoy. ;)

* * *

Everything had started out pretty much in the norm. After waking, Dean had made his way through the bunker to find Sam at one of the tables, researching some lore or whatnot in the company of a half-eaten bowl of cereal. That was normal. Sam pretending to not be exhausting books on the Mark's history by offering up a case that looked interesting, Dean allowing him to believe he didn't know exactly what he was up to by saying they could check it out, that was all normal. Even when Dean had asked if that was all, and Sam just offered a careless shrug, mentioning they'd run out of bread. That was also normal.

Needless to say, the day began pretty like every day for the past month; same old same old, completely and utterly ordinary in its entirety.

There were no clues or hints strewn about, no helpful tidbits to warn Dean just how extraordinary their day would eventually pan out to be.

After scarfing down a bowl of Pumpkin flax cereal himself, Dean had offered to go to the store to restock a little before they investigated the case. Naturally, Sam had agreed; possibly even a bit relieved. Not just that he wouldn't have to make the round trip and effort, but that Dean was actually offering to get out of the bunker for a reason other than a hunt. Still... the caution in Sammy's tone communicated to Dean he was taking it with a grain of salt.

"Oh, hey- get the whole-grain kind." Sam had requested, right before Dean marched out the door with keys in hand.

"Whole-what?"

"Whole-grain, Dean."

"Why?"

"It's better for you."

"Sure it is, Samantha_. _But it also tastes like crap. Don't think I forgot about when you bought it back last time, man, that stuff was **evil**."

"You say that about all healthy food." Sam pointed out, pursing his lips slightly at the insult.

Dean simply shrugged, absently tossing the Impala's keys into the air and catching them when they fell with a jingle.

"Whatever," he retorted with a grunt, "but as I'm the one getting up off my ass to buy it, white bread it is."

With that, Dean had clogged out the door, the anticipated sound of Sam's relenting sigh tailing him out.

And Dean swore, he was literally only gone about fifteen minutes. The traffic hadn't been too bad, neither on the way there or back, and obviously there weren't any crowds gathered in the convenience store at that time of morning. He hadn't wasted any time, either.

Dean had gone in as soon as he arrived, picked up the bread, (he ended up getting the stupid whole-grain kind Sam had requested despite the said 'crappy taste'), and hopped into his car to zip straight back home. No detours. No distractions. Fifteen freakin' minutes. Dean had completely out-ruled the possibility of anything bad happening to Sam in that small of a time frame.

But even so, when he returned to the bunker, both arms laden with groceries- Sam was missing from the table. At first... obviously that didn't strike Dean as strange. Pulling out the bread from the milky-white plastic bag one generally got from the Super Mart and setting it on the counter, he tried a more normal approach to his budding interest.

"Sam, you here?"

No answer. Dean just continued to unload, figuring his brother simply hadn't heard him.

"Hey, Sammy!"

When that call got the same response as the first, or _lack thereof_, Dean finally stopped fiddling with the bags. _Probably in his room_, he decided, but still resolving to make sure of it as he traveled through the empty halls the brothers had come to know as home. If Sam really thought this hunt he'd pulled up that morning was important, he'd want to get a move on; get the drive out of the way.

Dean halted at the door of Sam's room, which was shut, unsurprisingly. It usually was.

Not really having a huge sense of privacy, Dean nonchalantly curled his fingers over the brass handle and opened the door; making no effort to knock.

He soon regretted that decision.

"Hey Sam, are y-" Dean's words died on his tongue, all but deserting him in light of the room's unexpected contents.

There was no Sam, but there _was_ someone. Standing beside the only mirror in the vicinity, right before Dean's confounded eyes, there was a long-legged brunette. Slightly wavy, dark hair fell free over her slumped shoulders, equally dark brows resting over two deep green eyes that were piercing enough to make the only right adjective to describe her 'beautiful.' She was dressed only in one of Sam's flannels, an assortment of blue and brown colors, which was naturally gigantic draped over her petite frame; disguising some but not all of her curves...just enough to make a guy wonder about the unseen ones.

She seemed just as startled as he was, alarm flashing in those sharp eyes, peering up at him from beneath dark lashes.

And Dean really didn't know what to think... or say.

The only sense of it he could make, which still didn't make much sense, was the obvious assumption; Sam had a girl over. _And probably a really good night_, Dean thought as he gave said nameless-beauty a double take, brows slightly raised. But how was that possible? _He'd_ been with Sam last night, researching till the early hours of the freakin' morning. Unless it was _afterwards_, which, well, Dean supposed WAS possible, but... _Sam? _Smuggle a girl in the bunker? After 5 a.m.?

This was their safe place. Their home. They'd both agreed that sort of thing wouldn't happen. Dean didn't know exactly how he was supposed to feel about it; angry that Sam broke their agreement, or content that Sam was at least living a little _outside _finding a cure for the mark. Or proud... because this chick looked way out of Sam's league. Normally, with a girl like that, he'd have his game face on; but she was in Sam's bedroom, in Sam's shirt- and it was an automatic 'loyalty' decision that Dean wouldn't mess with that picture.

They were both speechless; but to his further surprise, she was the one who found words first.

"Dean?"

Dean's eyebrows creased, confusion making a response more difficult to form.

"I'm sorry... do we know each other?" That would be... awkward. _Real_ awkward. Dean began to scrutinize, trying to see if anything awakened any memory. He wanted to say no, that this was the very first time he'd seen her, but there were certain aspects about her that gave him cause to hesitate. Like the length of her nose, and the way it curved up slightly. The lone freckle just a little to the right of her mouth...the color of her eyes. Something about it all was suddenly extremely familiar, though he had no recollection of ever meeting her.

Nothing was making a lick of sense.

"It's _me_, Dean."

"I'm- I'm not following you," he shook his head, gesturing from her to himself. "Have we ever...?"

Her features twisted instantaneously into disgust, nose scrunching.

"Oh, _god_ no."

Dean straightened a little at that, slightly offended, pride having just taken one in the chest.

"Alright then, sorry."

"_Dean. It's __**me**_." She sounded irritated now, a definable edge in her voice.

"How the hell am I supposed to know what that-"

"Sam! I'm Sam!"

_That _shut him up. And, similarly to when he'd greeted a stunned Sam as his 14-year-old self when that witch had turned his clock backwards, Dean had not a damn clue what to say. A long period of time passed before he made an effort to break the accumulating silence.

"...You have breasts."

"Yeah, I know, they're kind of attached to me."

Dean's eyes dropped to give Sam a _third _take, eyes lit up with a strange interest.

"I'm _taller _than you, Sammy."

"Dean, _stop _it."

"What?"

"Quit checking me out! It's frickin _weird._"

Dean bit his cheek, forcing himself to look away; one hand lifting to scratch the back of his head.

"Sorry... I mean, no, I mean- dude. You can't blame me for your female version being a hell of a lot sexier than your normal version."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

She gave him Sam's signature bitchface, authenticating her claim to be his brother. Or... 'his' claim...

"_Bite_ me."

"No, that'd be weird."

"DEAN."

"Alright, alright," he relented, sighing. "But Sam...you're like...actual_ Samantha, _man what the _hell_."

"Your guess is as good as mine." Sam muttered, eyes shifting back to the mirror again, taking in his- _her- _appearance. "Whatever it is, just call Cas so we can get it reversed."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, dragging it down across his face as he tried to get a hold on the situation. They were the Winchesters. They'd seen weird. They'd seen creepy, awful, disturbing, impossible- pretty much you damn name it and they've seen it. Except for _this. _A gender-swap? What could have the power to do that?

"While I do think you in that meat suit is far more appealing than you as... well, _you_, I'm gonna have to agree. We gotta get this fixed."

"If I was in some other meat suit," Sam began to reason, suddenly bending down to pick up the discarded jeans heaped on the floor, "my actual body would have to be somewhere, right?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Dean made a face at Sam's obliviousness to the strip tease he was giving, with the top buttons of the flannel left open and a wide view given. He looked away, first actual feeling of 'disgust' entering his system. "Sammy, cover up, would you?"

Sam rolled her eyes, cheeks suddenly swirling with color.

"None of this is going to fit, Dean." she muttered, straightening to her full height. Which was, in comparison to Dean's, pitiful. Though... he guessed, for a chick, Sammy was still sort of tall. She- _he_\- looked around 5'9? 5'10?

Okay, admittedly, all of this was a face-full of strange. But being taller than Sam was... well. Arguably one of the more bizarre sensations.

"Uh... yeah, that could be a problem, among others." Dean agreed, pushing away his own misgivings in order to come up with a game plan. "Look, I'll head back up to the store to pick up some lady-clothes, and I'll call Cas on the way. You just... sit tight."

Sam, who was fussing over the flannel buttons, finally lifted his (her) gaze. There was a bit of gratitude in it.

"Yeah... thanks."

"Okay, sister."

"Don't call me that."

"It's accurate, though."

"_Dean_."

* * *

a/n I don't know, haha. With all the angst I've been reading lately + on the show... I wanted to do something a little lighter. Let me know if this is something you'd enjoy seeing more of. ;) Don't forget to drop a review! Thanks for reading!


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